


Vellerum Mollitia Mendacium

by Tea_is_Not_Them



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Awooga (heart eyes), Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Hannibal AU, Hannibal Martin, Hannibal Typical Manipulation, Implied Cannibalism, It's kinda dark but I have brainrot so, M/M, Martin in a suit, Not important or even mentioned but its important to my heart, Other, Paranoia, Pre-Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_is_Not_Them/pseuds/Tea_is_Not_Them
Summary: Martin Blackwood is too nice. Jonathan Sims, an temporary FBI Profiler doesn't trust his psychiatrist. He has a good enough to believe that softness lies.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, sort of - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Vellerum Mollitia Mendacium

**Author's Note:**

> SO. I have brainrot. I finished hannibal and honestly my only motivator for this was one person on tiktok and the idea of Martin in a suit. So. I present to you Hannibal Martin Blackwood. 
> 
> I might make this longer, but I'm tired and want this out in the world.
> 
> Socials:  
> Tiktok: teaisnotthem  
> Insta: Tea_is_not_them  
> Tumblr: tea-is-not-them

The house smelled like ginger and peppermint, clean and sharp without the bite of medicinal cleaning supplies that must have been used to keep it so unstained. It also smelled of pretty spices and sage, herbs hung up to dry from a handpicked garden. Martin Blackwood was the owner of this house, a beautiful thing that looked lavish enough for another man to kill for it. He had at first hated having such a nice house, but soon he grew to like it. To like all the amenities that his job and friendships got him.

Jonathan Sims was one of his patients, a paranoid shaking man who asked more questions than he needed to. He had hyper-empathy, Martin knew, it made him exceptional at profiling killers. He could see what they see, practically know their identity from the design of their murders. Martin found him _incredibly_ interesting.

Something about him drew in Martin, maybe it was his immediate animosity, or maybe it was something deeper. Something that alluded more to Jon than he let off. More to him that Martin could peel apart and see. Jon was a mess waiting to happen, and Martin wanted to be there when he did, both to watch and to help him. Well, _Martin's_ version of help that is.

He rather enjoyed spinning a web, and when the target was so earthly beautiful, well he supposed he rather liked pretty things. Martin hummed to himself, a challenge every once in a while was nice.

He put the kettle on, awaiting guests.

\---------

Jon did not trust Martin Blackwood. He was too nice, it seemed like he had everything about himself laid out prettily, for everyone to see. He acted as if his existence was an open book, and at first glance Jon almost believed that. In the beginning, at their first psychiatric meeting, Jon had categorized him as uninteresting, a psychiatrist with a quirk of being a bit bumbling yet having a seemingly well deserved shining reputation, but that turned into him looking closer at the soft man that was Martin Blackwood. He found that he didn't trust a thing the other showed the world. Still he wouldn’t begrudge Martin’s invitation, urged to take the offer by his employer.

So he took a breath and put on a nicer shirt, he wasn’t going to shirk professionalism, not after getting this job, even if Elias knew full well who he was underneath the stupid green button up that he was fond of. His jacket was warm and grounding as the chill nipped at his fingers, like a perpetual feeling that followed him.

It was frigid getting into his car and waiting for it to warm up, and he was already missing his horde of cats that awaited him if he had just declined the dinner offer; he still had the time to do so if he so wanted to. Still.

His suspicion of Blackwood was enough to keep him sitting and shivering in his car, cranking up the heat to full and looking around at the landscape. Freezing and wet. Had he not worn boots he would have had damp socks. His breath soon stopped fogging up in the air, and he had enough feeling in his fingers to reverse the car and drive to Martin’s house.

As he arrived after a thirty minute drive he sighed, leaning his head on the steering wheel. Despite his initial hesitation, and the sudden urge to drive straight back home to avoid the interaction, he picked his head up, adjusting his glasses and dealing with the chain chilling touch on his neck. Getting to the front door he raises his hand to knock and then flinches. Jon hated knocking, but thankfully someone noticed his movement and opened the frankly ornate door.

It was Blackwood, Martin wearing a nice pale blue suit that looked expensive and perfectly tailored, smiling at him and welcoming him into his home. Jon followed, his paranoia already starting to act up, as he looked around. There was a blue theme, with hints of brighter happier colors. It was pretty, could be considered baroque, even if Martin’s humble demeanor was a complete contrast of his home.

This was not the first time he had been in Martin’s home. They had a weird patient-psychiatrist relationship, and they had Helen.

Jon found that the house revealed much more about a person than their façade around others did. And what he was seeing was that Martin Blackwood liked to have things clean and in order, but cozy and lived in. It was so nice it almost seemed artificial. Homey in a way that someone living alone in a big place had no right to be.

No matter how much niceties he had exchanged with Martin, he still found a lingering feeling of something being off when he was around him- and he trusted his gut enough to keep cautious.

Still he averted eyes when Martin turned and gestured to the table, “Unless you’d like to watch me finish making dinner?”

Jon had to ponder for a second, sit in this room waiting for Elias to show up, or wait in the kitchen with something to do but with someone he did not trust.

Curiosity always won Jon over, so he followed Martin into the kitchen. Martin rolled his sleeves up, and resumed whatever he had been doing before he noticed the “FBI” agent at his door. The kettle whistled and Martin turned with perfect precision to fetch three mugs. The way he made tea was precise and almost showy, like he was trying to make Jon see something about it. Theatrics be damned it was good tea, every time Jon had some.

“So Jon, tell me how your investigation is going. I’ve heard it’s quite gross.” Martin calmly took out the teabags with a spoon, and finished the last presentation details on the food he had made for the occasion.

Jon thinks about it, a bit happy to have something to talk about, “It’s.. a lot. You’ve probably suspected. The weird this is that a copycat showed up, it smelled of the Chesapeake Ripper. Heart and kidney removed, I just can't get over how different the kills were.”

Martin hummed, as if to push him to talk more, “Differences? What did the copycat do that the original killer didn't- oh and honey in your tea right?” He knew, Jon knew he knew about the tea but he supposed it made Martin feel better to ask.

“Well Timothy Hodge was killed completely differently. His organs were taken for one, but he got fed to worms after her died, and after the organs were stolen. Whereas the original kept them alive while feeding them to worms!” Jon blinked a few times, feeling a bit silly getting excited over knowing these differences, but the man across the table looked pleasantly intrigued.

Martin took a sip of tea, “So what could these differences mean?” He was twirling a butter knife in his fingers offhandedly, but Jon found that he didn’t like the idea of the other man holding a knife, no matter how dull it seemed.

Jon thinks for a second, tapping his fingers on the rims of his glasses before having a realization, “The killer is someone who was lonely. They wanted to show the victims something… uh. Home! They wanted to make the victims feel like they weren’t alone. So this person isn't killing for the thrill or power, they think they’re showing kindness!”

“Mm, sounds dreadful I think. Though interesting, where do you think that they got the worms?” Martin adjusts his vest, and for a second Jon can almost call him charming. Pretty, with his stylishly messy hair and soft face.

“...they probably are an entomologist.” Jon looks thrilled at the prospect of finding this person.

Martin smiles, and unbeknownst to Jon, he thinks that the other looks rather beautiful talking about death. He has a spark in his eye, especially after he figures something out. Martin feels a bit of excitement that Jon let go of that paranoia for a second. He hums and hears the door open. Elias, damn him, interrupted a conversation that he had been thoroughly enjoying.

Still the pleasant smile didn't leave his face as he went to bring food to the table. It was already prepared mostly, with wine and place setters already laid out in a pre-meditated arrangement, he had Jon carry the mugs in. Elias smiles at them both, and they sit down.

“This looks wonderful as always Martin, thank you.”

Martin looked pleased, “Yes well, fresh food does the body good. How is Peter by the way?”

Elias liked to talk about his husband, and the conversation went on from there.

Jon took to picking at his food more than not, though with a look from Elias he had eaten a bite very pointedly. Martin pretended not to notice, but still smiled as Jon finally just ate. Food was a love language, to yourself and others, Martin always thought.

He had made his mother food.

Had.

\-------

Jon was practically vibrating out of his skin, they had caught her, the Worm Queen. That title belong to a twenty-seven year old woman named Jane Prentiss who worked in a new age occult store, they found her in the tarot section mumbling about 'home'. He had been proud of himself to see her caught, spitting praise of love and acceptance of the worms, how their best purpose in life was to be consumed by what loved them. She had certainly not been of stable mind, and Jon almost felt sympathy.

Sasha and Tim had congratulated him, and he did the same to them. They may have been goof-offs most of the time, but they were good at their job. He could deal with the banter and jibes at him if it meant he had competent coworkers.

Speaking of competent coworkers, Georgie walked into his classroom with a smile, “Hey Jon, heard the investigation went well.”

“Mhm. It did, no incidents too.” He was a bit preoccupied with his thoughts, and Georgie rolled her eyes. She rather liked to bully him, though Jon didn't mind her teasing, this was his best friend after all.

“Head in the clouds Sims?” He could hear the smirk more than he could see it and he rolled his eyes as well, looking up in her general direction.

“Georgie you wound me, my head is very clearly in the ground.”

“Filled with worms?”

“Eugh, certainly not funny.”

She smiles, holding her fingers out in a pinching motion, “just a little funny.”

Jon scoffs, but there's a hint of fondness, “Yes yes, enough of that, how's the dating going?”

“So there's this guy who took me to a Hungarian place, since you, Tim and Sasha hate going with me…”

\-------

Martin looked at Helen. Her father had been… Unwell. He felt sympathy, and he knew Jon wanted to take care of her. He crossed his legs as he sat on the chair, nodding along to the story. She had a cup of tea in front of her, one that Martin himself again.

“I still feel bad.” She whispered into her cup. 

“For who Helen? You haven’t done anything wrong.” Martin reassured her. She really hadn’t done anything wrong, other than gut Michael Shelly. But in her defense he had attacked her first. He had been over her guilty conscious over and over, reassuring and comforting, as long as Jon wasn't in the room, there were no secrets. Well, the book had not been something Martin was pleased with, as she was putting all of them in danger with that idea, but for now he hoped she would choose the right thing to do.

Speak of the devil, the long haired man himself walked in, and sat at the little table with them, “Hello Helen.”

“Hey Jon.” She had clammed up again, still feeling quite a few emotions but hiding them commendable, had Jon been trying to look closer he might have noticed, and had Martin not known he might have even overlooked it as teenage angst. He offered his kindest smile. 

"So, any new gossip to share with us Helen?" Jon asked, looking a little more carefree, Helen smiled at them and then went on to share about this woman named Jude who got on her nerves.

They spent the rest of the visit talking like a family, run of the mill family, as if this wasn’t at a hospital but a dinner table in a home together.

\--------

“Jon are you ok?” Martin said, staring at the criminal at the table. It was Jared Hopworth, the man who claimed to be the Chesapeake Ripper, the man who tried to claim Martin's own identity, which Martin had some _thoughts_ about. Jon was looking worse for wear though, so he averted his eyes from the killer with a gun trained on him, and to the shaking man holding said gun.

Jared did not look like he understood what was going on, and Martin internally scoffed, so smart but so stupid, he thought.

“Its. It’s Richardson, it’s her father it’s him.” He repeated, disoriented out of his mind. Jon was shaking so hard that he might have put a tiny dog to shame. Martin pressed the back of his hand to Jon's forehead, and found that he was in fact burning up. Terrible fever, done worse by stress and the cold and the untreated internal injury. He hated hurting Jon, but he was curious, and in the end Jon would be fine. Martin was sure of this, he just had to pull a few strings, Jon would see it was for the best after all the unpleasantness.

Jared stared, both at the gun and Martin who kept looking directly at him, “No ones there Jon. He’s not here. You came here alone.”

“What…. No. He's there. He drove! He…” Jon looked about ready to fall over, and Martin carefully put his hand over Jon’s dominant hand, the one that held a trigger. His other hand was careful on Jon's shoulder, keeping him steady. Martin would rather not have blood all over everything if Jon decided to get trigger happy. He wasn’t in the mood to break out the cutlery, and however would he explain this to Elias?

Martin tuts, the skin-warmed metal weapon slipped out of Jon’s hand and into his own, “Give me the gun Jon, There we are, that's better.”

When he had the gun out of Jon’s hand, he brushed some hair out of Jon’s face before his look went from panicked to catatonic. There it was, a minor seizure. Martin took a napkin and wiped off some of the sweat from his brow, delicately. 

He sighed, and sat Jon down on a chair, wrapping his nice blazer jacket around him. Jon looked rather stunning if he ignored the fact that he was going through a bit of a medical emergency. Either way, he had a conversation to get to before he took care of Jon. 

“So Hopworth. We have some business to discuss.” He sets the gun down an arm's reach as he sits down.


End file.
